praise,
it does not rest easily with me
as it was given I twisted and turned
and the awkwardness of childhood returned.
praise,
as it was given I shuffled and stammered
remembering how once the nail had been hammered
when the awkwardness of childhood held a gaudy banner.
and I felt so embarrassed,
not so much because of the praise
but because of the potential I had failed to raise
and all those jokes I too easily gave
i could have made myself a better future
but I was too busy dismantling my lathe.
praise,
they gave it and I blushed
suddenly all the insecurities made a headlong rush
and the awkwardness of childhood returned.
The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing 